


Old Shoes

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fan Comics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 23:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dorothea gets to know Ferdinand a little better! Based off a comic by twitter user @cyaptainpiss.





	Old Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a continuation to the comic soooo I put the comic up top LOL

  
Afterwards Ferdinand looks up at her with glossy, expectant eyes, his hand trembling on the heel of her shoe. She can see the entire shape of his prick in the front of his tight black trousers, awkwardly pointed up towards his right.

“You always get hard when we’re talking lately,” she tells him to break the silence, which he seems to know is true, his face reddening still. Perhaps he'd thought she hadn't noticed. “No matter what we’re talking about. For weeks, now.”

“Ah... “ He presses his hot forehead to her shin repentantly. “My apologies, I… I have very little control over that.”

“It’s okay, Ferdie, it’s just kinda out of nowhere.” She says this in reference to the times when they're discussing something like theatre and he’s suddenly crossing his legs and refusing to meet her eye. Right now an erection is fully justified, as it seems as if Ferdinand really appreciates the act of kneeling in front of a beautiful woman and reverently appreciating her feet. “I wanna know what your deal is."

He knows he has to tell her the truth, so it takes him a couple of seconds to compose himself and gather his courage. “It was… that conversation we’d had. You were the figure bathing in the fountain I’d seen as a boy.”

Dorothea has to stifle a snicker when she realizes he’s serious. “Yes, and I took it the wrong way and hated you for it for years, so I’m sorry about that. We’ve been over this.”

“No, no-- that figure… I’m not sure you understand.” He averts his eyes, and she sees a bead of sweat glint on his regal red temple. His breath is unusually hot against her skin. “I was… overwhelmed at the time, but.... As I _matured_\--” Oh, hell, she knows where _this_ is going-- “I would become… ah…” he starts to stroke her calf reverently before brushing against the twitching slope between the base of her foot and her ankle, making her stretch it out invitingly. “I became haunted by visions of returning to the fountain to find that figure, and, and embrace her, and trace my hands over her shimmering skin… and breathe in the scent of her wet hair…”

“And then you’d touch yourself?”

“... Yes,” he confesses, climbing up on his knees to press his hot face into her lap. “Since… Since learning it was you, Dorothea, all along… seeing you has… the mere sight of you is enough--” he kisses her thigh chastely-- “to set my blood afire… to remind me of the passion your image had awoken in me.” The wine seems to have had an impact on his vocabulary. “Years of longing, of making you a goddess in my mind, and here you are, _speaking_ to me as if… as if I'm _worthy_.”

This happens to be exactly the type of thing Dorothea would like to hear. “You can do it right now if you want,” she says, trying to make it sound sweet as not to scare the poor thing. “If you’re alright with me watching.”

“Y-yes, I’m alright with it,” he says very quickly, rolling to his feet with the agility of a cat and pulling his shirt off with a bit too much enthusiasm. His hair falls in sweet, clean orange tendrils around his chest; she wore a wig like that once in a comedic play, but it wasn’t nearly as pleasant to look at or as soft to the touch. She stares at it for a few moments as Ferdinand rustles about with more articles of clothing and falls back to his knees, and before she knows it he’s stroking his prick in one hand and the start of her thigh in the other.

To set up some ground rules, Dorothea forcibly removes his hand from her thigh and relocates it to her ankle, which he squeezes tight for a moment. Ferdinand has a long, pale, pretty cock with a thatch of bright orange hair trailing up to his navel. She observes the urgency with which he tugs at it and the reverent way he lightly runs his fingertips over the toes of the shoes, pressing another wet, hasty kiss against the cutout of skin above the leather bow. He’s breathing much too heavily in a minute or so, eventually aimlessly kissing her shin between a babbling stream of “Dorothea Dorothea, Doro… th-thea Dorothea Dorothea Dorothe_ahhh_—" Ferdinand covers his mouth and shuts his eyes in bliss. His red lips part. His red brow furrows. His long blonde lashes twitch. For a man, he's quite beautiful.

“Feel free to come on me,” she throws him a bone, leaning up to kiss him sweetly on the forehead and taking in the sweet rosy scent of his hair before undoing the ties to her gray robe, leaning back, parting her thighs and giving him a good look at her bare cunt. “Your story was very sweet.” The idea of a starstruck teenage Ferdie fantasizing in the night about a made-up romantic encounter with some nymph, some street-urchin-Venus he’d seen bathing in a public fountain, cherishing the memory of her image in his mind for years and years... Despite herself, Dorothea blushes. “Go ahead.”

His eyes flit all over her body as his breath gets more and more labored, one hand cupped bashfully over his mouth and the other still gaining speed. Her face, her mouth, her tits, between her legs, above her chest, below her knees; he can’t seem to decide what he wants to look at, but his eyes are shut again pretty soon so it doesn’t really matter. Then he moans out a strained, embarrassing little noise, and he takes in a shuddering breath as he watches himself come on her feet, which seems to be as shocking and arousing an image for him as it is for her; he gets this ultra-horny humiliated look in his eyes as he continues to stroke himself through it, watching it happen and sighing _“DorotheaDorotheaDorothea—”_ as her nice leather shoes retain permanent damage. Dorothea feels lust pool in her stomach listening to the cracks in his voice and his desperate little gasps for air as his euphoria wanes, gently pushing his hair back out of his face, soothingly running her manicured nails over his scalp. She's so wet that she can feel his breath on her when he starts panting and rests his chin on her knee, closing his eyes and leaning eagerly into her touch. 

Dorothea lays a hand on his chin gingerly and leans down to kiss him. He hums wantonly but kisses with all the grace and restraint of a real gentleman. When she pulls back he's still panting, staring at her with stars in his eyes like she's never seen. "You're very sweet," she says, softer. It's quite uncomfortable for the toes of her shoes to be as damp as they are. 

"I love you," Ferdinand whispers, reaching up with the hand he wasn't just jerking off with to hold hers and run his thumb over her knuckles. "Dorothea. I do love you."

She cracks a smile. "Oh, Ferdie..." The mere mention of his own name seems to be enough for him, his eyes lighting up, his hand squeezing hers tight. Finally she kicks off the shoes. "Would you be a dear and go get me a washcloth?"


End file.
